


Dark Is The Night, I Will Be Your Guiding Light

by Foxsuke (ShadowRese)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Brainwashing, Guide Bucky, Hydra Rules The World, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-War, Sentinel Senses, Sentinel Steve, Sentinel/Guide Bonding, Soul Bond, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowRese/pseuds/Foxsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world ruled by the ruthless Hydra, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were a bonded Sentinel/Guide pair. But months ago, in a battle against enemy forces, Bucky was lost, classified MIA, and now presumed dead. Without his Guide, Steve is barely hanging on, his senses overwhelming him and his body no longer able to withstand the stress. </p><p>But when Steve and his group of rebels get some intel that Bucky is still alive, the Sentinel they call Cap will stop at nothing to get Barnes back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

     "How long? How long this time, Bruce?" Tony’s eyes were closed, and his hands were cupping the pained, tight face of Steve Rogers, but his words were directed at his partner and bond.

     Clutching the remains of his tattered shirt to his chest as the fabric knitted itself back together, Bruce closed his eyes and thought. A grimace crossed his face as he answered somberly, "An hour at least, Tony."

     Minute by minute, the two men watched as Steve’s face evened out, and his body ceased its trembling. When his breathing finally steadied, he opened his eyes and blinked slowly. “Tony?” Steve's throat was dry, his voice raspy, and his head was pounding. "What happened? Where are we?"

     Releasing Steve, Tony took a shaky step backwards into Bruce's embrace, who curled his arm protectively around the shorter man's shoulders. It was Bruce who answered Steve's question. "It's a safe house on our side of the Border. You zoned out again, Steve, this time in the middle of a fight. Luckily we'd already taken out most of the Hydra Sentinels, so Tony and I finished the rest of them off. Once Clint and Nat got the Guides away, it went down easy."

     Steve pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, applying pressure in the hope of relieving his headache. The reprieve from the pain was brief, returning two-fold once he removed his hands, bringing with it a wave of nausea. Bile rising in his throat, the Sentinel fought against the urge to vomit, not succeeding. The next few moments were spent with Rogers hunched over, one hand flat against the peeling paint of the wall, emptying the meager contents of his stomach onto the stained floor.

     When he was finished, Steve raised one gloved, trembling hand to his mouth, wiping away any traces of sick. He could do nothing about the overpowering, sour taste in his mouth, though, or the sickly-sweet smell, and within seconds he felt the nausea returning. Falling to his knees on the floor, Steve Rogers doubled over, dry heaving, and began to cry out.

     Instantly, Tony Stark was at his side once more, kneeling beside him. "No, no, no, buddy. Come on, not again, Cap. It's alright, breathe. Focus on me, don't leave us again, Steve." Tony had placed one hand on the back of Steve's neck, his words a constant flow, and slowly, minute by minute, Steve began to come back to himself.

     "I'm sorry, guys," he muttered at his companions. It was getting worse, and Steve knew it. Before, he used to think he was one of the lucky ones, gifted with all of his senses heightened. But now, like this, without his Guide? Now, it felt more like a curse.

     "You should go lie down," Bruce said. "There's an old sofa in the other room, and it's relatively dark and quiet. See if you can get some rest."

     Steve stood, slightly dizzy on his feet, and nodded to his friends. Tony was still kneeling on the ground, and Steve patted his shoulder as he walked past. Shambling steps carried him to the other room, and with a heavy sigh, Steve threw himself down onto the ratty, old sofa. Briefly, he considered taking off his sweat dampened uniform, but then decided against it. The fabric of his garments had been developed by Tony, with Steve's overactive Sentinel senses in mind. It was likely far more comfortable than the dirty, scratchy, surface of the couch beneath his back.

     Try as he might, however, sleep eluded Steve, as it often had since he had lost his Guide. Bucky, his partner, his best friend and lover, and the other half of his soul. They had shared something special long before Steve underwent "the procedure", as he called it now, and found out he was a Sentinel. The moment Steve had awoken in the underground lab, he had felt the cold seeping into his bones, the smells of the antiseptics assaulted his nose, and the too-bright lights seared his vision. He had risen from his bed, and had been on the verge of some sort of an attack, standing in the middle of the room with his hands pressed to the sides of his head, when the door had opened, and Bucky had walked in, bringing with him warmth and peace.

     Steve's memories of better times were interrupted though, when the sound of Bruce and Tony whispering in the other room reached his ears. Even through the closed door, it sounded as though they were standing right next to him.

    "Are you sure he can't hear us, Tony?" Bruce was questioning, the worry clear in his tone.

    "Well, maybe not positive, but yeah, pretty sure. I just... I can't even imagine what he must be going through. And honestly it scares the fuck out of me, because if something ever happened to me, who the hell would take care of you?"

     The sounds of soft kisses and the press of slightly moist lips drifted into the room and Steve smiled despite his discomfort. Though he was without Bucky, Steve would never begrudge his friends the soulbond they shared with one another. Bruce had been out of control when they found him in the ruins of what used to be Harlem, having been cornered by a Hydra unit, whom he had killed single handedly. Bucky had still been with them then, and he had shouted a warning when Bruce, in his Hulk form, had smashed through the window of a derelict building where innocent civilians had been hiding.

     Steve and Bucky had watched in awe as Tony's touch had turned the giant, raging, monster back into a man, who passed out in the former billionaire's arms. Stark had carried the stranger back to the Quinjet, refusing to hand him off to either Bucky or Steve, who could have hefted the man's weight with ease. Within days, Tony and the man, who they came to know was called Bruce Banner and was a Sentinel with rare power, had bonded. The Guide who had always insisted that the idea of true bonds didn't exist, had found his Sentinel, it would seem.

    Feeling close to zoning again, Steve shook his head to clear it, and focused once more on the hushed conversation coming from the other room.

    "- a stop gap at best. We were lucky this time, Bruce. One of these days, Steve is gonna zone out permanently, and there's not a damn thing we'll be able to do about it, except put him out of his misery. "

    "Don't talk like that, Tony. You know I love you, but sometimes you're just so damned pessimistic I wanna knock you out. There's still a chance Bucky is out there somewhere, and we're going to keep raiding these re-education centers until we find him," Bruce finished vehemently.

    Tony scoffed. "You're telling me you think Barnes is still alive? Brucie, how naive are you?”

     “We haven’t found his body yet. Until we do, he’s alive as far as I’m concerned.”

     The truth was, his friends had no idea of the hell Steve was going through. It was more than just a Sentinel in need of his Guide’s comforting touch. Every part of his life was so wrapped up in Bucky and the love that had always been there. If he were being honest with himself, it was difficult to remember a time before the war and the life the two of them had carved out for themselves...

   _"Stevie, I told ya to quit throwing the blankets off, pal. You're gonna get worse, and then what am I gonna do?" Bucky sighed exasperatedly, tucking the covers back underneath Steve's rail thin frame._

_Steve thrashed weakly on the thin, lumpy mattress in an attempt to once again divest himself of the offending cloth. "Can't help it, Buck. It's too heavy, and it itches." For some unknown reason, Steve had extremely sensitive skin, and the problem was only compounded when he was ill. "Just get it off of me." The small boy ran his hands down his arms, across his chest, trying to rub the discomfort away._

_"Shhh, it's alright," Bucky murmured as he slid beneath the blankets with the smaller young man. Tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it away, Bucky Barnes pressed his bare chest flush against Steve's back, left arm coming around to encircle the scrawny chest, palm resting with fingers splayed just over the other boy's heart. "I got you, punk. Breathe for me, okay?"_

_Concentrating hard on the sweet, dulcet tones of Bucky's voice, Steve felt himself begin to calm. It happened often, Steve having what Bucky called one of his panic attacks. The only thing that could keep Steve tethered to his sanity was Bucky, be it his voice, his touch, sometimes even just the scent of Bucky's pillow or coat._

_Both boys had lost their parents in the early days of the war, when the first Hydra terrorist attacks had been carried out on U.S. soil and across the world simultaneously. To say that the powers in charge had been woefully unprepared for such a coordinated attack would be an understatement. So many thousands were killed, many more rounded up and placed in forced labor camps, like Bucky’s mother. The boys had watched from inside a hidden space in the wall, Bucky’s hand clamped tight over Steve’s mouth, while Mrs. Barnes, the last of the adults in their life, had been dragged away at gunpoint._

_After that, the pair was reduced to hiding in terror from the waves of soldiers that Hydra belched forth relentlessly. Steve and Bucky had nobody but each other in those days. Those were the days when there was no food and no electricity and no water, no law and order. When Bucky was scared shitless to have to leave Steve alone because he never knew when one day he might come back and find his best friend dead. But he had to do it, because if he didn't, they wouldn't eat and then Steve surely wouldn't make it. So Bucky crept out into the city, dangerous as it might be, and he scavenged, or he stole. In the beginning, he was caught a few times, so he was forced to learn stealth, moving silently through the shadows, a ghost who took only what he needed and never anything more._

_Other times, he bargained for goods, though he would never tell Steve with what. The younger boy always suspected Bucky must have paid with the only currency he had, himself. Because those were the times Bucky would come home, his arms laden with treasures, like water, or a couple of cans of Sterno, cookies, cold medicine, or dried fruit, and once, even a whole bag of butterscotch candies, Steve's favorite, the package still unopened. He'd dump them down in front of Steve, whose job it was to sort through their supplies and ration everything out evenly, though the older boy would always find a way to sneak some of his share back into Steve's pile no matter how hard he protested. Then Bucky would strip his clothes off and climb into one of the sleeping bags he had salvaged, bloodstained and torn, from an abandoned vehicle, and not talk for hours, feigning sleep, even though Steve could tell from his breathing and soft, muffled, sobs that he was wide awake._

_It was always cold, and damp, the city blanketed in thick clouds that blocked out the sunlight and played havoc with Steve's compromised immune system. The young men never had enough to eat, and they worried every day that one of the Hydra patrols that frequently swept the bombed out city would find them._

_The night before they finally left Brooklyn; in the basement of the derelict apartment building they had hidden in, Bucky kissed him for the first time._

_"I can do this, Buck. I promise I won't slow you down, and I'll pull my weight. Just... don't go without me. Don't leave me behind." Steve's voice had been so quiet, and afraid. He was worried that Bucky would decide he'd be better off without him, that he stood a better chance of surviving alone._

_"What the hell are you goin' on about, punk? How could you ever, in a million years, think I'd leave you? God, you're so stupid sometimes, Rogers!" Bucky had taken hold of Steve's shoulders then, his grip painfully tight, sure to leave bruises on the pale flesh. "Truth is, Stevie, I need you more'n you need me. If I didn't have you, I'd have given up a long time ago. What would be the point of it all?"_

_Steve had looked at Bucky then, seen the unshed tears of desperation in his eyes. They weren't little boys anymore. He was eighteen and Bucky a year older. But somehow, his friend looked younger and more scared than he ever had in all the years he'd known him. "I'm sorry, Buck. I know you feel responsible for me, and you'd never shirk your obligations-"_

_"Obligation? Are you blind on top of everything else?" Bucky looked uncertain for a second, his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he mulled something over. Then, obviously deciding he might as well go all in, plunged onward. "I love you, Steven Grant Rogers. Always have, always will. You're everything to me." And then, Bucky had lowered his head and pressed his full, red lips to Steve's, hands coming up to cup thin cheeks. A surge of energy pushed through the small body, and he felt stronger and more alive than ever. Steve lifted his hands to bury them in Bucky's thick, brown hair, fingers tightening around the strands..._

     "Cap?" Tony’s voice jolted Steve from his memories.

     "Yeah, Tony, I'm awake," he answered with as much confidence as he could muster, and desperately trying to keep the pain from his voice. Cap... even that epithet had been given to him by Bucky.

     "Oh, good. Listen, I hate to disturb your rest, but Sam's here with the transport. He says there's some important information we all need to hear, so we're headed back to the Tower."

     Steve nodded and waved a hand at Tony dismissively. When the Guide left the room, closing the door gently behind him, Steve struggled to stand up. Once again, he felt his senses going into overdrive. The rumble of the Quinjet's engines reverberated in his ears, and the ground hummed beneath his feet, the vibrations becoming less and less subtle by the second.

     With a low keen in the back of his throat, Steve covered his ears with his hands, needing to keep the sensations out. The Sentinel could feel his body begin to shake, and the roiling in his gut returned, churning and bubbling, his body a volcano threatening to expel all his vital organs in a violent burst. So, he'd been right. It wasn't just the zoning out anymore. Over time, his body would begin to betray him again. The height, the size, the physical strength he had gained when he consented to be a guinea pig for Howard Stark would all come to nothing, because the time when he would no longer be able to function was fast approaching. Provided he didn't go insane first, of course.

     Laboriously slowly, Steve made his way outside the dilapidated structure, joining his fellow SHIELD agents. They were gathered close together in hushed conversation, but they quickly ceased talking when he drew near. If Steve's head hadn't been pounding so furiously, he could easily have made out what they were saying, but as it was, he didn't even notice them going silent around him. In fact, he wasn't even aware he had reached them until a light touch to his forearm made him flinch.

     Tired, red rimmed, pale, blue eyes looked out from a drawn face. Sam Wilson sucked in a heavy breath, shocked at the state Steve Rogers was in. When they had met, Steve had only just lost Bucky, and his grief had been immense, but he looked even worse now. Sam put his Guide abilities to use with Steve, talking to him in a low, steady voice. In a matter of minutes, the tall Sentinel's eyes cleared a fraction, and the blue in them shone just that much brighter.

    Maybe it was because Sam had lost his bond too, but of all the Guides in their unit, Steve had responded best to him. There was no way anyone would ever mistake them for a   true bonded pair, though. It was in the way Steve sometimes seemed to lean away from Sam, even when he was in desperate need of a Guide, and in the feeling of guilt that flicked across his features every time Sam pulled him out of a zone. The last few times he had attempted that, Sam had needed the assistance of both Tony and Clint Barton to get Cap back.

    Once the four men were safely aboard the Quinjet, Steve gratefully accepted the hypo filled with a white liquid he couldn't remember the name of. He remembered what it did though. It offered a deep, restful, sleep, and Steve found he needed it more every day. He ignored the worried looks of both Tony and Bruce, who sat side by side on the bench opposite the one where Steve lay. Sam strapped him down to ensure he'd be safe on the flight back, and then gently turned Steve's head to the right, penetrating the skin and vein in his neck with the needle, depressing the plunger and releasing peace into the Sentinel's bloodstream. A sigh, and a softly whispered, "Bucky," escaped Steve's pale lips before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team worries about Steve, but hope arrives in the form of information from Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the overuse of flashbacks, I just can't seem to help myself with this one!

      "He's not gonna make it, is he?" Sam asked sadly. Even though no one could ever replace his beloved Sentinel, Riley, there was no denying that Sam loved Steve like a brother. It had been almost like looking in a mirror when he met Steve, his own loss and pain reflected back at him from such an honest, open face. It was easier for a Guide to get by having lost a Sentinel, but it was still hell, and Sam promised himself that day he would do everything in his power to help other Sentinels out there from falling apart. It was something he hoped someone would have done for his Riley, and he dedicated his life to that cause now, along with eradicating Hydra.

     At the pilot's station, Tony put the Quinjet on auto, and came back into the passenger area. "What do you think? Those two belonged to each other even before the whole Sentinel/Guide bonding thing. Tell you the truth, I'm surprised Rogers has lasted this long. It's been almost a year, man."

      They all knew the story: Tony meeting Steve and Bucky, him taking them back with him to his father’s fortified lab. Steve had been sick, very sick, the pneumonia having taken root deep within his lungs, and Howard Stark had seen both the opportunity to save the young man’s life, and to test his serum.

      _Three years ago, Tony had been out scouting for survivors when he had come across Steve, who at the time was so skinny and small he could have been knocked over with a feather. Or well, Steve had come across him, really. The kid was so light his feet didn't make much noise. To be fair, Tony had just discovered a set of walkie talkies that appeared to still be in working order, and he was already taking them apart in his head when he was struck from behind with something that bounced off his shoulder ineffectually._

_Startled, the heir to the former Stark empire had turned and aimed a well placed punch at his attacker's jaw. With a snarl, the kid pushed himself to his feet, "That's our stuff! Put it back where you found it!" Even from where he was standing, Tony could feel the heat pouring off the little guy in waves._

_Brandishing the walkie talkies at the kid, Tony had been about to say something back, tell the kid he was sorry, he hadn't known the stuff was claimed. Except he never got the chance, because something big and heavy plowed into him from his right side, knocking the wind out of him, and cracking his head against the ground. It took Tony's sluggish brain a few seconds to determine that the thing that had tackled him to the ground was a person, who was now straddling his waist with hands wrapped around his throat and oh fuck that was why he couldn't breathe._

_The man on top of him was young, and strong, and his voice was angry as he snarled in Tony's face. "Fucking touch him? You’re dead, you bastard!" With his vision beginning to darken around the edges, Tony only dimly registered another voice, the first kid, pleading and asking the newcomer to stop. It must have worked, because suddenly Tony's airway was clear, and he was coughing and sucking in great gulps of oxygen._

      _When the boot was placed on his chest, pushing him back to the ground, Tony decided this had gone on just long enough. "All right, uncle!" he huffed. "Get off me already! I won't touch your little princess again, just let me up."_

_Tony thought he might have made a mistake in calling the little guy a princess because the boot pressed down harder, the pressure on his ribs becoming uncomfortable._

_"Stop, Bucky, please," the smaller guy said, before dissolving into a coughing fit, the sounds wet and thick in his chest. Instantly the booted foot removed itself from Tony's bruised sternum, the footsteps retreating to the other side of the room where the skinny kid had slid down the wall, collapsing in a heap._

_"Aw, hell, Stevie, you shoulda waited for me! Or just let this asshat take our stuff. This crap ain't worth you dyin' over."_

      Tony couldn’t know it that day, but those two young men would eventually become his brothers in all in but blood. But of course, they would shed enough of that together over the years for that divider to become blurred. They would be joined by others, young men and women alike, who all fought towards the same goal, but these two, Steve and Bucky, were the first, and the dearest to Tony's' heart.

      Howard’s serum had saved Steve’s life then, but this time, there would be no magic fix.

      Maybe Bruce was right. If even a portion of the information Natasha and Clint had gleaned from the rescued Guides was accurate, maybe there was hope for finding Barnes alive. The rest of the trip passed in relative silence, each one of them lost in their own thoughts. Tony just wished they knew for sure. He hated the idea of getting Cap’s hopes up for what might amount to a wild goose chase. Worse though, what if they found Barnes, but couldn’t save him?

      When the Quinjet did land, it took nearly all of their combined strength to drag Steve’s unconscious form onto a gurney and get him inside the Tower. Between them, they shuttled the Sentinel’s body to his room, and set him on his bed. Tony and Bruce headed out together, grim looks on both their faces, while Sam stayed behind to change Steve’s clothes and cover his cold flesh with a blanket before moving to his room across the hall from Steve’s.

      Six hours later, after everyone had cleaned up and rested, the principal members of their ragtag group of rebels were gathered in the the war room. Nearly every inch of wall space was covered with some type of paper. Detailed drawings, maps loaded with pins indicating active resistance cells and Hydra base holdouts, and all along one wall, the photographs. The confirmed dead were placed on the right side, with Howard Stark's picture at the very top, while the left contained those who were MIA.

      Steve tried to avoid glancing in that direction, but his eyes betrayed him, Sentinel sight locking on to the image of Bucky, at the bottom of the list. They hadn't had any actual photos of the man, and so Steve had sat for hours and drawn one from memory. It was Bucky's face as he had seen it for the first time through a Sentinel's eyes, long hair tied back in a messy bun, two thick tendrils escaping and hanging down either side of his face to frame his beauty. His eyes danced with mischief, and his full, ripe, lips were pulled into the grin that Steve found so irresistible.

      The wound in Steve’s heart was one that wouldn’t heal. No amount of lancing or treatment could cure it, and when he saw the image of Bucky, the pain flared up, growing from a dull throb to a piercing agony. The drawing was a charcoal pencil sketch, and Steve found himself wishing he could see the blue of Bucky's eyes one more time, framed by his thick, dark, eyelashes. The more he stared at the image, he could almost imagine it moving, Bucky turning his head to look at Steve, and laugh and ask him what the hell was he looking at, punk? He could even hear Bucky's footsteps, the soles of his boots squeaking lightly against the tiled floor of the underground laboratory.

      _"Bucky," Steve practically sobbed when his best friend walked into the room. His cheeks were wet, and his hands trembled, but he reached out for the other man all the same._

_The grin fell from Bucky's lips, instead replaced by a frown of worry. In a few long strides, he had crossed the room to Steve's side. Standing gingerly in front of him, Bucky reached out and took the blonde's hands in his own. "How do you feel, Stevie?" he asked softly, his eyes filled with uncertainty._

_"Taller," Steve had answered, having to look down into Bucky's clear, blue eyes, still unsure and wary._

_"Does it hurt?" Bucky asked him, but Steve shook his head no. Feeling unsure, Bucky attempted to pull away, partly out of habit, the old fears of accidentally hurting Steve not having had time to be laid to rest yet. But he also pulled away because he was unused to the new body, his mind already frantic with worry that Steve would no longer want or need him now that he was a new man. He'd known it was a possibility, and he didn't know what he would do if Steve rebuffed him now._

_Steve though, couldn't get enough of Bucky, the sight of him, his voice, low and seductive to Steve's ears, even though he didn't mean for it to be, his scent that was unmistakably Bucky, like the earth after a fresh rain. And Bucky's hands in his, no longer dwarfing his own, but slightly smaller, and fitting together flawlessly, like two pieces of a larger puzzle. Steve found himself wondering if the rest of their bodies would connect so perfectly._

_Mesmerized by crystalline, blue eyes glancing up uncertainly from beneath long, dark, lashes, Steve thought absently he might like to stand there all day and count each and every one. His whole body was on fire, feeling more of everything, more than he had ever felt in his life._

_Marveling at his new height, he pressed his nose into Bucky's lush hair, inhaling deeply. Steve nuzzled against the top of his best friend's head, hands coming up to cradle Bucky's face, the stubble on his cheeks scraping gently against Steve's big palms. "Bucky," he murmured, the name slipping out like an invocation. "Bucky, mine, all mine..."_

_And suddenly, more than anything else, he needed to taste Bucky, needed to run his tongue over those rosy lips, lick into the hot cavern of Bucky's mouth. Before he had time to think too much about what he was doing, Steve captured Bucky's mouth in a searing kiss, teeth grazing over the other man's lip, sucking the bottom one in and holding it. Bucky exhaled, warm and moist, then pulled a hitching breath in. He moaned, high and so uncharacteristically not Bucky that Steve grinned against his mouth, and kissed him harder, hands tangling into the unruly strands of brown hair._

      _Steve hadn't even known he was moving them backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the small bed. He placed his left palm on the mattress, the other still gripping Bucky's hair, attempting to maneuver them down onto the hospital bed that was certainly too small for the both of them together, even before Howard Stark's serum._

_"Whoa, there Captain," Bucky said breathlessly. "This ship doesn't have to sail just yet." He laughed then, thin, false humor from a mouth that Steve thought was made to be kissed and more. "Your first time shouldn't be like this, in a cold, sterile lab, with Howard's cameras on us." He had looked away then, guilt and shame clouding his face._

_It was true. They had shared kisses and heated touches, but Bucky had always pulled away, afraid that anything more strenuous would provoke one of Steve's coughing fits. He'd be damned if he'd protected Stevie all those years just to go and kill him because Bucky couldn't keep it in his pants._

_"Why?" Steve had asked in a broken, hurt voice. "Why does it have to be this way, Buck? Look at what Hydra's greed and madness has done to us, to you. I'm tired of hiding and running from them. I'm tired of letting them write our life story and making it into a tragedy. We should do something, Bucky, hit back for once. I can do it now."_

_The sound of the door opening was the only warning they received before Howard Stark stepped into the room armed with a Stark tablet and a bright, feverish look. "That's exactly what I was hoping to hear-"_

      "Steve? Come back, pal." It was Tony voice, and maybe that was the only reason Steve actually heard it, because sometimes Tony sounded more like Howard than he cared to admit.

      "I'm good Tony," Steve answered hoarsely. "Just go on," he muttered as he waved his hand dismissively at the older man.

      "All right then," Stark continued. "So, like I was saying, we know now why Hydra has been kidnapping Guides. They’ve been able to replicate Abraham Erskine’s Sentinel serum, but for some reason no one understands, they have no Guides.”

      Clint scoffed. “They’re taking the Guides, and trying to force them to bond. As Guides, we don’t have to be bonded to a Sentinel to help them, but we do it because we want to. Depending on how we feel towards the Sentinel, it can be easy, or it can be hard and painful. Forcing it, making a Guide accept a bond that isn’t a true one, it’s a violation is what it is!”

       Steve slammed his fist down on the table. Something cracked beneath his hand, but he was past the point of caring. "I get it, Clint. What Hydra’s doing is disgusting. And I don’t mean to sound insensitive here, but we’ve suspected this for some time." His vision was becoming unfocused, and his teammates voices were causing an unpleasant buzzing in his ears. "If there’s new information, I want to hear about it. Now. If not, then let me go back to sleep, and you all can sit here and moan without me."

      "Rogers,we’re getting to that -" Tony began, before being interrupted by Thor.

      "No, the Captain is right. He more than any of us has a right to hear what Natasha has to say. We must all excuse him. If my brother were taken from me, I have no doubt I would suffer in much the same way.” Beside him, Loki pursed his lips in mock annoyance, but he pressed closer to his adoptive brother, the act betraying his true feelings on the matter.

     Looking across the table at one another, the team came to a silent consensus. They all deferred to Natasha, since she was the one who could give Steve the answers he sought. “You know what I can do, besides just the Sentinel stuff?”

      Steve nodded, giving her leave to continue.

      “While Clint talked to the rescued Guides, I read them. I looked into their thoughts, and I saw one face very clearly. It was Barnes.” Natasha waited, as Steve only continued to stare blankly at her. “Steve, your bond is alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking two more chapters should see this complete. The next one will likely be from Bucky's perspective, at least partially, and should be up sometime mid-week. Thank you everyone who has given this story a chance, hope you're enjoying!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter is told from Bucky's POV, and it's not a pretty one. There is violence, both committed by and against Bucky. If any of this might be a trigger for you, I would suggest skipping this chapter all together and waiting for the next update, which will switch back to mostly Steve's POV.

      Pain. A burning behind his eyelids, an itching like a thousand ants crawling over his skin, so many tiny little sets of mandibles, too small for the eyes to see, biting into his flesh. Was it always this way? He thinks not.

      But that’s wrong, because he should not think. He exists only to serve the Sentinel. Any pain or discomfort is not to be indulged. Push it down, bury it, swallow it. It is irrelevant, and must not be allowed to interfere with the his purpose. He is not a man, only a tool, Guide 32557038. He is called Red, like the star painted on his left arm, the one made of metal that crushes human skulls like paper mache. He does not remember when it was given to him. So much power, so much strength.

     Yet, Red will never use that power to harm the Sentinel. He belongs to Brock Rumlow, and must only ever use his power in the advancement of the man’s objectives. At the moment, that objective is storming an encampment in what was once woodland in New Jersey. Sources have identified two Guides, attempting to remain hidden from Hydra. This cannot be allowed. These two need to be brought into the fold, and shown the error of their ways.

      The number of casualties does not matter. They are, afterall, rebels, traitors to the Hydra nation, harboring rogue Guides. Red cuts them all down with bullets and knives, men, women, and children alike. Though a few will always attempt to fight back, they are no match for the superior skills and strength of Rumlow and Red combined. It’s over almost before it’s even begun, and Rumlow has his prize, one woman, and a young boy. Face a blank mask, Red watches as they are taken into custody, herded into the armored vehicles just arriving on the scene, sedated and shuttled off to fulfill their new purpose.

      Once in the van, Rumlow begins ripping off his tactical gear, his hands shaking and unsteady as he struggles with the straps. He looks to his Guide, eyes wild and nostrils flaring. “Do your fucking job, Red, before I have to start hurting you!”

      Without a word, Red reaches over and places his right hand against Rumlow’s forehead. In stony silence, he watches the other man’s eyelids blink closed, the furrow in his brow smoothing out and his breathing coming easier. It is the exact opposite of the feeling that courses now through Red’s own body. The hot, prickling sensation in his spine, and the sudden lurching of his heart. Looking at him, no one would ever guess the effort it takes Red to maintain his hold on the Sentinel. His mind closes off, his surroundings becoming a distant nightmare that Red chooses to ignore.

      “... said that’s enough!” A cracking sound breaks through the haze of Red’s dissociation, followed by a throbbing pain. Red’s face slips into a grimace before he reigns it back in, his slate blue eyes darting to the source of his pain; his right hand and the fingers that Rumlow clutches in his fist. Rumlow squeezes, twisting his hand and Red’s fingers crack again. Broken probably, again.

     When Red does not cry out, Rumlow lets go of his hand in disgust. The Sentinel leans forward and backhands his Guide across the face. The blow is so forceful that Red has to grasp the bench seat to keep from tumbling to the vehicle’s floor. He can taste blood, feels it trickling from the corner of his mouth.

      Slowly, Red pushes himself back into an upright position, his cheek throbbing. He resists the urge to reach up and touch it. Keeping his eyes averted, he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”

    “I’m sorry, _what?”_

    “I’m sorry, sir.”

      For a few seconds, Rumlow continues to stare at Red, murder in his eyes. But then his lips split into a malicious grin, likely already planning how he plans to punish his Guide for his inattention later. He laughs, cold and cruel and dangerous. “Oh Red, you’re something else, man. If I were a different kind of man…” The Sentinel doesn’t finish, just goes back to removing his gear and chuckling under his breath, thoughts of the Guide momentarily dismissed.

      Red knows that he is fortunate; bruises and fading scars mar his skin, a testament to the treatment that is an everyday occurrence with Rumlow. A violent and brutal man, Rumlow savors each opportunity for cruelty afforded him as a Sentinel. Yet not even he has ever inflicted such atrocities as those that will be visited upon the Guides they have captured today. The Sentinels they will be assigned to have gone through more than their fair share of Guides in the last six months. Red should know; he is the one that had disposed of their lifeless corpses afterwards.

      While Rumlow is distracted, Red raises his arm to his face and wipes away the blood. He tries to see how much it is, searching his arm for the dark smudge it has made, but it’s indistinguishable from the rest of the stains already decorating his uniform.

      Base camp looms in the distance, and internally Red shudders. Within those walls, in a room deep beneath the structure’s ground floor, the chair waits for him. Red knows that he will walk to it, and sit down in it. The straps will tighten around his wrists and his ankles, tight enough to restrict blood flow to his extremities. He will lean forward for the mouthguard, and his heart rate will start to race, and he will begin to hyperventilate. It won’t be for long though, because the doctor will close the device over his head, and the ripping will begin. Pieces of himself will be torn from his mind, memories yanked out of his head by their roots, leaving open, weeping wounds behind.

      Only when they are satisfied they have taken enough from him do they allow him the relief of the cold. Red welcomes it, as he does every time, until the ice begins to creep up along his arms. The small, round window of the cryogenic chamber reflects his face back at him. Within it, he sees the red of his lips shift to a deep blue, the color of lake waters in the summer, warm, inviting, blue pools that Red wants to drown in, and for a fraction of a moment, he remembers. Eyes widening in panic, he calls out, metal fist clenching, readying to beat down the door. “No, wait, Ste-”

     And then he sleeps, and when he wakes days later, he will have forgotten again.

     During Red’s imposed slumber, his injuries have been healed, and he does not recall ever suffering them. The new Guides have been given over to their Sentinels, and indoctrination has begun. Everything about the Guides’ former lives is being stripped away day by day, until the only thing left will be their focus. Part of that process includes systematic abuse at the hands of their chosen Sentinels. Hydra does not control through love, but through pain.

     It appears that these two newly arrived Guides have been learning this lesson in Red’s absence. The middle aged female with the downcast eyes and trembling hands is unable to help flinching at the slightest touch. And the skinny, adolescent boy now sports hand shaped bruises, stark and livid against the pale skin of his hips, arms, and throat. The boy makes Red uneasy, for reasons he cannot even begin to fathom.

     Over the next few weeks, the long, painful process of indoctrinating the Guides is carried out. Red is on edge, distracted to a dangerous point, and more than once he finds himself being disciplined by Rumlow. For four straight days, he is denied all food and intravenous supplements. On two separate occasions, the tender flesh of his back becomes acquainted with the lash, and once, Rumlow even beats him senseless while Red remains on his knees, docile in the face of the beating.

     Red suffers each new hurt as he always does, silently, obediently, but inside he burns with shame at the disgusted look the young boy gives him. He knows what that look means. The boy does not understand why Red allows this mistreatment to continue. Red finds himself wondering the same thing of late.

     But it is his job, his only purpose. Fight alongside Rumlow, and calm the Sentinel’s overworked, overstimulated system. Red will likely do this until the day he dies, which at the rate things are going, might be very soon.

     Public punishment and humiliation are nothing new in the Guide Training Compound. Red and the other, more seasoned Guides have all been both witness to and victim of such displays. The day he sees the Sentinel slap the skinny boy with the blue eyes, however, something inside of Red snaps.

     It’s bad enough that the boy falls to his knees from the force of the strike, blood dripping from his nose and his cheek already beginning to swell. The kid snarls and lashes out, spindly arms looking to connect with his Sentinel’s body. Laughing coldly, the man easily sidesteps the boy’s reach, then lunges forward, brings up his right knee, and makes contact with the Guide’s jaw. The boy’s head rocks backward, and he grunts in pain and fear. The Sentinel buries his fist in the boy’s hair and yanks him forward.

     Whatever his next actions would have been, no one will ever know, because Red slips up behind the Sentinel, and presses his blade against his throat. His voice is rough and gravelly when he speaks. “Let. Him. Go.”

     “Fuck you.”

     Red smiles wickedly, and applies more pressure, just enough to break the sensitive skin, a thin line of blood welling up beneath the silver. “I said let him go. Unless you want this knife to know what the inside of your throat feels like.”

     The Sentinel lets go of the boy’s hair, and Red takes advantage of that to start dragging the Sentinel backwards, away from the terrified Guides. None of the other Sentinels seem to want to try their luck. They all stare at Red and his hostage with a mix of fear and hate.

     “You’re dead, you know that? When Rumlow gets ahold of you, you’re dead.” The Sentinel starts shouting, his voice shrill and tremulous. “Rumlow! Rummy! Rummy!”

     And that’s when he hears it, low and dangerous and just off to his right. “Oh, Red, I wish you hadn’t done that. Stand down.”

     He wants to disobey. Red wants to slit this Sentinel’s throat and then move on to Rumlow, and not stop. He wants to spill all their blood and bathe in it, a sacrifice in the name   of all the Guides he has helped to enslave, to atone for the wrongs he has committed in Hydra’s name.

     Instead, the knife clatters to the floor, and Red releases the Sentinel. His arms drop to his sides, and he braces himself for the blow he knows is coming. When it comes, it is vicious and knocks him unconscious almost immediately. Red welcomes the blackness, greets it as he would an old lover, anything to quiet the screaming voice in his head that he does not recognize as his own.

     Dead to the world, Red is dragged away, into the depths of the compound for wipe and recalibration. He will not know that in a few short hours, the facility will be stormed, and many of the Guides will be liberated. The tall, blond Sentinel in blue that storms the gates will not see him, bound as he will be in his prison of ice. The rebels will not find the undergound labs and hidden barracks and weapons caches.

     By the time Red comes to, it will all be over. The Guide, the frail boy with the blue eyes and spine of steel will be gone. Red will not remember him, the boy having been ripped forcibly from his memories. But far away, in a safe house Hydra knows nothing about, the boy will remember, and nothing will be the same again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Steve knows Bucky is alive, will he be able to find him? And even if he does, will anything ever be the same?

     “A… Alive?” Steve can’t seem to breathe; it feels like there’s something squirming inside his chest, desperately trying to claw it’s way out, leaving no room for oxygen in his lungs. His vision is blurry, cheeks wet with tears. “Bucky’s alive?”

     “Yes-”

     “Where?”

     Natasha purses her lips. She looks to Clint out of the corner of her eye, and the archer shrugs. Under the table, she feels her Guide place a steadying hand on her knee. “He was at the compound we took down. I don’t know exactly what transpired, but Barnes did something to piss them off. One of the Sentinels took him underground. There was something about a chair, but the Guides don’t know what that means, and for the life of me, I can’t figure that out either.”

     Eyes darting wildly around the war room, Steve fixes them all with that utterly broken gaze. “He was there… Right there, the whole time, and I didn’t even know it. I didn’t feel him.”

     It’s clear that Steve isn’t really in the room with them at all. He’s somewhere far away, and he’s starting to babble incoherently.

     "I have to go to him. He needs me, needs my help. I have to get him out of there."

     "Steve-"

     "No! Bucky's been alive all this time and I just left him there."

     Sam knows he has to get a handle on this before his friend loses control. "Steve, buddy, none of this is your fault. You didn't know, man."

     "No, but I should have. Don't you get it? I left my Guide in the hands of Hydra. I _left_ my Guide." The man before them is not one of the most powerful Sentinels in the world; he is a devastated, lost, and terrified kid. Steve Rogers may have been doing a decent job of holding himself together so far, but it’s all come apart in the face of the news of Barnes’ fate.

     “Listen to me Steve,” Bruce says, with as much authority and confidence as he can muster. “I promise you, we are going to get him back. If Bucky is still alive, there’s nothing on this earth that could stop me from helping you get to him. I swear it, on Tony’s and my bond, I swear it.”

     Not knowing whether to smile or to cry, Steve tries to do both, and his face ends up in a painful tug of war struggle with itself. His large, muscular arms wrap around his chest, and he begins to rock back and forth, suddenly too cold and hot all at once. The sounds that come from him are enough to break their collective hearts.

     Knowing that Steve will push himself over the edge if he something isn't done soon, Sam stands and moves, positioning himself behind Steve's chair. Tenderly, the Guide reaches out his hand and cards his fingers through Steve’s blond hair. It’s something Steve had once mentioned Bucky used to do for him when they were younger. When Sam feels Steve lean back into the touch and stop his shaking, he begins humming softly, while signalling for Tony to produce a vial of the anesthetic that will, basically, reduce Steve to a state of catatonia.

    They all hate doing it. Somehow, it doesn’t seem like an acceptable course of action to medicate Steve like this, but it will keep him safe and sane, and for now, that’s all they can really ask. With steady hands, Sam tilts Steve’s head again to the side, exposing the graceful column of his neck and throat. Expertly, he slips the needle into Steve’s skin, and allows him the blessed relief of sleep.

*****

 

    It takes a week, and it kills them all to keep Steve in an induced coma during this time, but there is no better alternative. The time is used to plan and work out all the details of a rescue mission, one during which they will face some of Hydra’s most highly trained Sentinels and their Guides. Guides who, through no fault of their own, have found themselves under Hydra’s control, forced against their wills to bond with the brutal, thuggish men and women that the enemy employs. No matter what, none of them wants to have to hurt those Guides.

     None of that even touches the fact that, based on information gleaned from the boy they liberated last time, Barnes himself will likely fight them tooth and nail to stay with the man he believes is his true bond. The best they can hope for is that Bucky will remember Steve, and will somehow make the connection. Unfortunately, none of them think they will actually be that lucky.

     Once all the planning and preparations are done, Tony and Bruce bring Steve out of his weeklong sleep. As expected, it takes several hours to bring him around completely, and Sam and Clint have to work together to ensure their friend doesn’t have a meltdown.

     That task is made infinitely more difficult when Natasha suggests that Steve stay behind and leave the operation to the rest of the team.

     “No, Natasha. Absolutely not! He’s my bond; I should be the one to get him out of there. My face should be the first one he sees!”

     Natasha is not in the least bit intimidated by the Sentinel’s outburst. “That may well be, Steve. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Barnes may not even remember you. What will you do if that happens?”

     Steve has no answer for her. What will he do if Bucky doesn't remember him, or doesn't want him anymore? What if the bond he has been forced to create with Rumlow is stronger than the one the two of them had shared? No. No, Steve refuses to believe that. He has always hoped that he would find Bucky, but deep down inside, there has always been that little sliver of doubt. In the last few weeks, as his zone outs have begun to occur with more and more frequency, he has almost resigned himself to the fate of a painful death, or a slip into madness from which he will never return.

     “Fine,” he concedes. “I won’t be one of the ones on the front lines. But I have to be there. Even if it’s just waiting on one of the Quinjets, or helping to herd any more rescued Guides to safety, but I am not staying behind.” Steve can only hope his friends are convinced by his show of strength.

     There is silence in the war room for several long beats, during which the rest of the team look to each other. Slowly, they seem to come to a consensus.

     “That is an acceptable proposal, Captain,” Thor says evenly. “If you promise that you will stay out of the compound until we call for you, we should be glad to have you join us on this mission.”

     And with those words, it’s settled.

*****

 

     Deep in the bowels of the compound, Natasha and Clint find a crude laboratory. Set into one of the walls is a large cryogenic containment unit, and inside the unit is James Barnes. Natasha has always been good with computers and technology, but even she doesn’t want to touch the computer terminals in the room, unsure of what much of the equipment does. She calls for Tony and Bruce, the bonded pair and resident scientists.

     The two men had stayed behind with Steve, for exactly this purpose. Bruce is a powerful Sentinel, and it’s far too easy for him to lose control when in that zone. After a battle, it sometimes can take him hours to come out of it completely and be of any use. Bruce had wanted to stay alert and focused should any skills other than his fighting ones be needed.

    Over the communicator, Tony asks the question he knows is on Steve’s mind. “Can the Cap come with us, or does he need to stay behind?”

    They can hear Clint and Tasha conferring on the other end of the line, and after what seems like forever, her smooth voice replies. “Honestly, Tony, we’re not sure what to say. We have no idea what’s been done to him…”

     “I don’t really care what any of you say, I’m coming for him. You can’t stop me, you know it.” Steve sets his jaw, his brow furrowed, pink lips pressed together tightly.

     Tony sighs loudly. “Well, you heard the man. We’ll be there soon.”

     Along the way, the three men encounter Thor and Loki, who are guarding a clutch of men easily identifiable as Hydra Sentinels. Steve eyes them all warily, knowing that one of these men here is the one who forced his bond to commit unspeakable acts, who mistreated and hurt Bucky, and took pleasure in it. As much as he wants to walk away, he cannot.

     “Which one?” He almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, as harsh and biting as it sounds.

     Thor looks at him sadly before choosing his next words carefully. “Captain, I do not think-”

     “That one there,” Loki interrupts, a hard glint in his emerald green eyes. One long, graceful hand points at a man towards the front of the group. The tall, raven haired Guide resolutely ignores his brother’s disappointed glare, and instead only smiles wickedly. Loki may be on their side, but he certainly isn't known for his kind and forgiving nature.

     Tony huffs loudly, and places a hand on Steve’s back. “Hey buddy, Barnes is waiting. I don’t think now is the best time for this.” Reluctantly, Steve allows himself to be steered away from the Hydra soldiers.

     “No wonder he was so easy to manipulate. With a weak, scared, little bitch like you for a Sentinel.”

     The only sound is a sharp intake of breath, coming from Steve himself. The Sentinel clenches his fists, fingernails digging crescent moon shaped wounds into his palms. Slowly, he turns to face the men kneeling on the ground. Steve doesn’t trust himself to speak, in fact biting his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

     The man is either stupid or supremely confident, because he doesn’t stop talking. “When Red sees you, he’s gonna kill you. And then he’s gonna come for me, and we’re gonna do the rest of your pals. ‘Cept for the Guides. I think we’ll keep them. Especially this one. Maybe I’ll keep both him and Red for myself,” he finishes with a snarl, jutting his chin at Loki.

     Before anyone else can respond, Steve leaps towards the man, and drives his fist into that smug, sadistic face. “His name is Bucky, you piece of shit!”

 

     It takes both Thor and Loki to pull Steve back from the mouthy Sentinel, who by this time, has collapsed onto the floor on his side, groaning, nose obviously broken, and blood pouring down his face. Sam comes over to keep watch over the Sentinels, as the brothers have to drag Steve around the corner, and through the hidden doors that lead to the subterranean levels. Bruce and Tony take over from there, each taking one of the shaking Sentinel’s arms and leading him to the lab.

    Once there, they sit Steve in a corner while they work, and there he stays until they are finally able to free Bucky of the cryo unit. As the Guide is placed on a nearby gurney, Steve blinks his eyes, suddenly aware of Bucky’s presence in the room. His blood cries out, sings to him in a voice so familiar it causes a physical ache. Bleary eyed, and shaky limbed, Steve rises from his chair, stumbles forward and towards the form on the metal table across the room. The man who lies on the table is bare from the waist up, tight black pants covering his legs, heavy combat boots on his feet. Steve would know that form anywhere, had spent many nights memorizing the planes of that beautiful body, had traced every dip and curve with his lips and tongue and hands.

     Except that now, from the shoulder down, Bucky’s left arm has been replaced with a piece of metal. It looks exactly like his arm should look, the same size, the exact muscle definition, even the shape of his long fingers. Fingers that could crush a man's windpipe as easily as they could play a beautiful, haunting melody. Steve wants, no, needs to know, if that new arm had been medically necessary to save Bucky's life, or if it's just one more horror to add to the long list his best friend has been made to endure.

     It is agony when Tony commands him to stay back, and allow them to work. Clint and Natasha are forced to restrain him when he does not heed the scientist’s warning. In their firm grip, he thrashes, desperate to get free and touch the man he has loved his entire life, and the one he never thought to see again in this life. Steve works himself into a state of panic in the minutes it takes for Bucky to wake up. After what seems like hours, he is finally able to see the grey-blue of Bucky’s wide eyes, and the dusky shade of his lips as they quiver slightly with each breath he takes.

     The Sentinel rips himself free of his friends’ grasp, tearing across the room and skidding to a stop in front of his bond. Bucky remains motionless as Steve wraps his arms around him and cries into his hair. Bucky’s skin is still cool to the touch, and slightly damp from the thawing ice.

     “You’re safe now, Buck. They won’t hurt you anymore, I won’t let them. That bastard will never come near you again. I’m here now.” Steve punctuates the end of each sentence with a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head.

     “My bond…” Bucky chokes out, and Steve has to strain to hear him.

     “Yeah, I’m here now. It’s me, it’s Steve.”

     “My bond…” Bucky tries once more.

     “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s Steve. I’ll take care of you now, Bucky.”

     Bucky recoils as if burned. “No. My bond… Rumlow. And who the hell is Steve?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I lied. One more chapter after this. Apologies for the late update, work has left me very little time for anything lately,


End file.
